


What Dies Inside Us

by Sarren



Category: The Fixer (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-18
Updated: 2008-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 07:44:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1639580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarren/pseuds/Sarren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'He put the bottle to the side and picked up the nearest photo, studying the picture of the nondescript fiftyish-looking man with a neat bullet hole in his forehead.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Dies Inside Us

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my awesome beta readers, Jody, zebra363 and special_trille.
> 
> Written for LithiumDoll

 

 

He looked down at the body at his feet, its limbs flung out like a rag doll's. It had been a little girl once, her brown curls tied up with ribbons, matted now with blood. 

"What are you doing here?" Rose was picking her way through the carnage.

"I had to see for myself." The little girl's t-shirt had a unicorn on it. "I had to see what he's become."

Rose put her hand on his arm. "It's not your fault."

"That's funny. From where I'm standing, it feels like my fault."

Rose was looking at him with compassion. Misguided. It wasn't him she should be feeling sorry for. "What are you going to do?" she asked.

"About Patrick?" Lenny shrugged. "I haven't decided yet."

*****************************************************************************

Patrick was watching the football.

Lenny stood in the doorway and looked around. The room was bland - Patrick wasn't much for decorating - but there was nothing to suggest the occupant was liable to decide, hey, today's a good day to go on a shooting rampage.

Patrick didn't look up from the television but he waved towards the kitchen. "There's beer in the fridge," he said. "Come and watch the match."

Lenny shook his head sorrowfully. "What am I going to do with you?"

That got Patrick's attention. He blinked up at Lenny. "What do you mean?" he asked. He sounded genuinely confused.

Lenny stared at him incredulously. He couldn't really be that ignorant, could he? Suddenly, Lenny was furious. "What do I mean? What do I _mean?_ You stupid fool, you've only gone and done it now."

"You mean, the job? I took out the target like I was supposed to!" 

"You killed innocent people, Patrick!"

There was a frightening emptiness in Patrick's eyes as he stared at Lenny. "You can't make an omelette without breaking eggs," he said dismissively. 

"Which would be useful advice if we were chefs, Patrick, but in our line of work, the eggs don't so much as get cracked. In our line of work, _Patrick,_ the eggs may as well be Fabergé."

"What are you saying?"

"It's the end of the line, Patrick," Lenny said regretfully. "I'm afraid you're finished."

Patrick leapt to his feet. "No, no, no," he muttered, pacing back and forth, shaking his head. 

Lenny looked at him, cursing himself for being so blind. Patrick was a broken man. Lenny regretted that it had come to this - maybe if he'd paid closer attention it needn't have. However, now wasn't the time to wallow in guilt. "It's over, Patrick," he said, implacably. "You're a loose cannon."

Patrick stopped right in front of him, staring into his eyes. "Whatever I am, you made me." 

That struck home. Lenny stiffened. "I didn't make you kill children," he said harshly.

Patrick shook his head, looking confused. "Look, I won't do it again," he said, as though he really thought it could be that easy. 

"No, you won't," Lenny agreed. "This is the deal. You lie low for a while. Disappear. Don't contact Rose or myself again."

Patrick was pacing back and forth again, but he paused to stare at Lenny, clearly shocked. "You need me," he argued.

"Not anymore I'm afraid, Patrick. This is the way it has to be. Otherwise your actions today will have unfortunate consequences. For you. Do you understand me?"

"Lenny..." Patrick said, pleadingly.

_"Do I make myself clear?"_

In a split second, the desperation in Patrick's eyes turned to hatred. "Crystal," he spat.

"Good." 

Lenny opened the door. He paused and turned to face Patrick, who hadn't moved. "Don't let me see you again," he warned.

Patrick's expression was stony. "You won't."

Lenny paused a moment longer. Patrick had been a good man. A good soldier. There wasn't much of that man left, by the looks of him.

Time would tell.

*****************************************************************************

John was hunched against the cold, hands buried in jacket pockets, watching his sister's kids as they frolicked about the playground. The kids suddenly shrieked with laughter at something. Lenny saw a smile cross his face for a moment. 

He didn't turn around as Lenny approached, but Lenny had no doubt John knew he was there. Lenny stopped beside him. For a couple of minutes they stood silently.

"Well?" John said, abruptly, turning his head to look at Lenny.

"This one's right up your alley," Lenny said, still watching the kids. 

"Oh yes?"

"Clive Tunstall."

"The QC? I've heard of him. Represents asylum seekers?"

"That's the one."

"Isn't he one of the good guys?" 

"Yes, he's done a lot of good work. There's talk of him being on this year's Honours list." Lenny paused. "He's also a paedophile," he said flatly.

He had John's full attention now.

"It absolutely has to look like an accident," Lenny said, turning to face him. "No improvising, no stunts like you've pulled in the past."

"Why? John was looking at him narrowly. For once Lenny had absolutely no idea what he was thinking. 

"Because we can't afford for people to start looking closely-"

"No," John interrupted. "I mean, why do you care about one paedophile? There are thousands out there, just like him," he pointed out, sounding bitter. "What's so special about him?"

"Ah, yes I see. Well, it seems Mr Tunstall turned his attention to the wrong child. The victim's parents are influential, politically. They're putting pressure on Scotland Yard and are threatening to go public unless he is arrested." Lenny turned to face John. "Tunstall is working on an extremely sensitive case that is vital to the security of this country," he said. "If he was to be arrested, or his unsavoury private life became public knowledge, all his work would come under investigation. It very possible that all the progress that's been made would be for nought."

"Okay," John said, turning to check on the kids.

"Okay?" Lenny said, surprised. "You're not going to ask me what this big important case is about? Why it's so crucial?"

"You won't tell me."

"Well, no. But that's never stopped you before."

John shrugged. "Like you said, it's right up my alley. One less monster in the world, right?"

"Okay, then." The kids were coming toward them. "If you have any further questions, speak to Rose," Lenny said, glancing at his watch. "I'll expect the matter to be taken care of in the next 48 hours. Remember - an accident."

"Got it." And then John was bending to greet the kids, patiently responding to their excited chatter, ignoring Lenny.

Lenny smiled as he walked away. It was a nice family scene. Yes, John was becoming attached to his new life most satisfyingly.

*****************************************************************************

Lenny made himself comfortable on the couch, barely glancing at the photos from the two crime scenes spread out on the coffee table. Professional hits, nearly identical MOs, a week apart. "Well, what have you discovered?" he asked, reaching for the whisky bottle.

Rose sat down next to him. "You're not going to like it," she warned.

"Get on with it."

"Soong knew Tunstall."

"I'm aware of that. That's why we've been asked to look into it. I don't like it, but they did move in the same circles, so we can't assume a sinister connection." Lenny drained his glass, leaning forward to pour himself another shot, holding up the bottle after. Rose extended her glass. "What else?" he asked as he poured.

"Hatch."

He put the bottle to the side and picked up the nearest photo, studying the picture of the nondescript fiftyish-looking man with a neat bullet hole in his forehead.

"Hatch was a primary school teacher. How does he fit in?"

"Tunstall and Soong's kids both went to the school he taught at, St Matthew's."

"How long ago?"

Rose tucked her legs under her on the couch. "Fifteen years ago."

"That long?"

"Same time as Jessica Mercer."

The name seemed familiar. "Who?"

"They all knew Peter Mercer."

Lenny blinked, the pieces falling into place. "Wait, John Mercer's uncle?"

Rose just looked at her glass, swirling the liquid around gently.

He stared at her in disbelief. "You think _John's_ behind the murders of Soong and Hatch, don't you?"

"I don't want to."

Rose was on her fourth straight whiskey, Lenny realised. She only let herself drink that much when she was upset.

"But you think it's possible?" he pressed.

"It all adds up."

"I'm surprised you're telling me, though."

"Whatever there is between John and me, if he is behind this then he has to be stopped."

"If it is him - if he's become another Patrick Finch - I won't make the same mistake I made with Finch."

"I know."

"You can be a cold bitch," Lenny observed. Rose frowned. "I meant that as a compliment," he said, stroking a finger down the side of her face. She jerked her head away and stood up.

"What are you going to do about John?" she asked, only the faintest tremor in her voice giving her away.

Lenny leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes. "I haven't decided," he said tiredly.

*****************************************************************************

Lenny threw the crime scene photos on the table.

John didn't even try to feign ignorance. He nodded, his face expressionless.

"What the hell did you think you were doing," Lenny shouted.

"They deserved to die," John said simply.

"That's not your decision to make!"

"Why not?" John challenged. "Seems like I'm uniquely qualified."

"Listen to yourself, man." Lenny turned away, and screwed his eyes shut momentarily as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel a mother of a headache coming on. "Do you know who you sound like?"

"I'm not Finch," John said, calmly. "I'm not killing innocents. Those men were paedophiles."

"You don't know that for sure!"

"Don't." John said, sounding tired. He slumped onto the couch and put his head back. "I wouldn't be surprised if you knew about the others all along. But they don't matter, right? Their victims aren't _important."_

"I didn't know about the others." Lenny said, annoyed with himself at his urge to justify himself. "You know me better than that, John," he said anyway.

There was a long pause. "Yeah, okay," John muttered.

"Right." Lenny put his hands in his pockets, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Now, what am I going to do with you?" he said, remembering exactly the last time he'd said that, furious that it was happening all over again.

"Are you going to have me killed, too?" John asked, still in that calm tone of voice.

Lenny was stunned. "You considered that I might do that, and yet you did it anyway?"

"I knew it might come to that, yeah."

"Then why'd you do it, man?" Lenny found himself asking. "Help me understand."

John looked up at him. His eyes were haunted. "Those men were evil. They preyed on children. They did it to Jess back then and they're still doing it. Once I knew...I couldn't _know,_ and not do anything."

Christ. "Those men hurt your sister?" 

John shook his head. "No...I don't know...she wouldn't tell me...but when I mentioned their names she got hysterical."

"Why didn't you come to me?"

John looked at him disbelievingly. "Are you telling me you would have done something about it?"

"We'll never know, now. Meanwhile, I'm still left with the problem of what to do with you. I'm afraid I can't just let you run around murdering anyone you suspect of being a paedophile."

"There's one more," John suddenly volunteered.

"What?"

"One more name Tunstall mentioned. George Howard. He's some sort of high ranking police officer, he said."

Dear God. An Assistant Commissioner, no less. Lenny closed his eyes for a moment. "Do you have actual proof?"

"Tunstall showed me emails, photos; there were movies too, but I couldn't watch them."

"Before you killed him."

"Yes. That's how I knew about the others too. I didn't kill anybody I didn't _know_ was guilty."

Lenny rubbed his forehead tiredly. "On his home computer?" he asked, just to clarify. 

John nodded, looking wary.

"Those files would still be there, then," Lenny said. "There are specialists who deal with internet paedophile rings. I'll make sure the evidence reaches the right people."

"Why?"

"Believe it or not, I don't like paedophiles either." He glared at John. "Also, this whole thing is upsetting our little family. I want it over with."

"It's that easy?" John asked disbelievingly.

"No, it bloody isn't that easy!" Lenny snarled, infuriated. "I could kill you myself for what you've done, jeopardising our whole operation like this, not to mention betraying my trust."

"Why don't you. Just get it over with."

"I hate to admit it, but you're more valuable to me alive, still. But _only_ just. This has to stop, now. Do you understand? No more unsanctioned killings. You come across anything else you feel passionately you need to do something about, you bring it to me."

John was staring at him, mouth open.

"Do you understand?" Lenny repeated, forcefully. "Yes or no."

"I understand," John said, stuttering a little. "Yes."

"Promise me that this is the end of it. Promise me."

"I give you my word."

"And can I trust you to keep it?" 

John stood up. He looked Lenny in the eye. "I've given you my word. Either you trust me to keep it, or use that gun you've got in your pocket right now."

It was just as well Lenny had a lifetime of exercising self control, or he might have betrayed his surprise. Instead he held John's gaze until John finally blinked and looked away.

"We'll see," Lenny said, finally. There was no need to make a decision now. After all, John wasn't going anywhere.

 


End file.
